


Mob Mentality

by Zai42



Series: October 2020 [17]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Dehumanization, Mobs, Multi, Object Insertion, Other, Pillory, Public Humiliation, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: The whole thing was a farce, and everyone knows it.Prompt: Wrongfully Accused
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Oscar Wilde
Series: October 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946893
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23
Collections: A Wilde Ride October Collection





	Mob Mentality

**Author's Note:**

> When I decided I wanted to do Portmanteauber this year, this was the first thing I wrote. Because I am nothing if not predictable.

Grizzop had done crowd control for these kind of things once or twice before. Kept things from getting ugly. He knew the signs and saw most of them now, simmering over the crowd like heat over concrete. There were two guards flanking him, and the only thing that had broken their indifference had been when Wilde had tried to intercept them before they reached the staging grounds, silencing his protests with snarled threats of their spears through his belly.

That was the last Grizzop had seen of him, and he hoped he had enough good sense to make himself scarce. Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want Wilde to be a part of it.

For...so many reasons.

He didn’t flinch when a guard clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, didn’t let his face betray his emotions has he was manhandled into the stocks, kept his eyes lowered and his shoulders set. He knew how quickly these things could get out of hand. Better to be calm, not to present an easy target.

Still, as the Mars cultist slammed the lock into place with a smirk, he couldn’t help but suspect it was already too late for that.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the crowd to shift into a mob. Someone threw something - not a rock, small blessings, but something wet and soft and rotting, and Grizzop bit back a growl as it burst against the side of his head. The curious babbling had risen to a dull roar, a feedback loop of eager rage, and Grizzop kept his gaze lowered and his breathing slow.

He wasn’t surprised that the guards didn’t do anything about the pair of feet that appeared before his eyes, or the hand that circled his ears and yanked his head up. He winced but didn’t cry out, defiantly meeting the gaze of the human glaring down at him. “Why can’t we kill it?” he asked, lip curling in disdain.

“It belongs to the Artemis lot,” one of the guards said, barely phased. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

“Like a pet?” Grizzop’s lip curled into a snarl, his spine going rigid. _Calm, calm, stay calm,_ he thought; the man holding his ears noticed the expression on his face and grinned, dark and sickly, and shoved his head into a harsh bow, his neck aching. “Pity,” the man said, and Grizzop felt the tip of a knife against the back of his neck, catching at the collar of his shirt, slicing the fabric apart in a rough stroke. “We’ll send it back to them in once piece, then.”

* * *

They hadn’t fucked him yet, at least. That, apparently, would have been a step too far, or maybe they just found him too distasteful. They had cut his clothes away, careless of whether their knives drew blood or not; his skin was hot and tight, burned from the sun, sticky with a film of filth from the rotten food they’d thrown at him.

He did wonder how angry mobs always seemed to find overripe fruit.

It had seemed, at first, that they would be content to hurl abuse at him from afar, but then one of the guards had slapped him across the face when he’d growled, and a dam had broken.

He couldn’t see what they had forced inside him. He hadn’t screamed - he had bit his lip until blood dripped down his chin, but he hadn’t screamed. He had that, at least.

He had lost count of the hours, but the shadows in the courtyard hadn’t moved far. His legs trembled like he had been running all day; his muscles ached with anxious tension, with the strain of being forced into one position for too long; he was bruised and bloodied and befouled. It hadn’t been long. His sentence stretched out before him. The mob howled for his blood. Someone had hauled themselves onto the platform behind him.

He hissed as whatever had been shoved inside him was pulled out again. A thumb rubbed over his hole, large hands groping at his ass, holding him open. “Took that pretty easily,” a voice said, and Grizzop went limp as he felt something nudge up against him, slick and skin-soft. “That pretty bard of yours use you up?” Grizzop twitched, the wood of the pillory digging into his wrists and neck, unyielding. “Pity we couldn’t keep him up here, too.”

Rage flared in Grizzop’s stomach and he choked it down, gritting his teeth. Wilde wasn’t here. Wilde wasn’t in danger, wasn’t watching, wasn’t -

The man behind him yanked on his ears, pulled his head up so he was facing the mob, and a tomato burst against his cheek, hot from the sun, reeking of rot. 

* * *

Grizzop was limp in his bonds by the time Wilde burst back into the courtyard, flanked by a furious phalanx of Artemisian paladins. He ignored the argument that broke out around him - ignored the barked orders for the crowd to disperse - and bolted to Grizzop’s side, smashing the lock on the pillory, catching him as he collapsed to his knees.

Wilde had never considered Grizzop small before, but now he trembled in Wilde’s arms, and a hot, protective anger pulsed in him. He tugged a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at the blood and grime on his face.

“Thanks,” Grizzop mumbled. He slit open one eye - the other was blackened shut - and gave Wilde a grim smile. “Knew you’d come.”

“It should have been sooner,” Wilde said weakly. Grizzop’s skin was feverish under his hands - he should have brought water. Damn it. “I’m sorry. I’m so - ”

“Shh,” Grizzop said gently, closing his eye, patting Wilde’s hand. “S’okay. You did good. It’s okay.”

A disbelieving laugh caught in Wilde’s throat, mingling with a distant shame at needing to be comforted while Grizzop was half-conscious in his lap. “I'll take care of you,” he murmured, strangled, bending over him as if to hide him from the world. “I promise. I promise. I promise.”


End file.
